


The Long Game

by GhostCrumpet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adventure, Daring-do spy stuff, F/M, Pregnancy fic (but not your average kind apparently)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCrumpet/pseuds/GhostCrumpet
Summary: You play with fire, you get burnt, you sleep with dogs, you get fleas. You fuck a world-wide-wanted super hero criminal for all the right (saving your family) wrong (helping a terrorist organization) reasons, and you get pregnant.Post-Civil War Darcy Lewis has no one and nowhere to turn when her family is held hostage by a terrorist organization that wants to exploit her skillset and her super hero knowledge to get closer to the Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post of my fic that I started over a year ago. Wow. It's been a long time. This thing has been taken down once by admins, and once by me when I deleted my old account.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this. This story is my baby. I'll be posting a chapter every few days until we're caught up, and then the final few chapters.

It had been a long week. A long year. The beer in front of him was clear, frosty, and he wished that it would give him the kind of buzz he and Bucky used to get out back of the Boomer’s Pharmacy, drinking from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. Bucky. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

The bartender eyed him and his untouched beer. They were a slip of a thing he thought was female, but couldn’t quite be sure, and they had luminescent, almost translucent skin. They seemed to be able to cool down everyone’s drinks with just a touch of a finger to the rim of each glass. Genosha certainly was a place unto itself, and given his status as persona non grata almost everywhere else in the world, it was one of the few countries where he could meet the venerable Jean Grey and not get shot at or taken into custody.

Bucky was the reason he was here. Bucky was the reason for everything. Bucky, and a sense of misguided misplaced guilt Sam had told Steve wasn’t healthy to hang on to. Jean Grey was coming to see him in the morning, talk with him about what potentially she and Professor Xavier could help with in regards to Bucky’s mental conditioning.

Steve licked his lip and then took a long swallow of his beer, the acrid taste burning down the back of his throat. He hoped that tomorrow would bring answers, and not wind up with him drooling on the floor in handcuffs. Jean and the Professor didn’t seem like the type to betray someone looking for help, and it’s not like they were strangers to being persecuted for trying to just… help.

The barstool next to him scraped back a few inches, and there was a flicker of brown and blood-red in his peripheral vision. He twisted his head, just slightly. A girl- a young woman rather, was sitting there, her short red bandage dress (at least that’s what Natasha had called hers last time they’d gone to a less-formal function together) sheathing her body from mid-thigh to just over her breasts. She was all over rubies, red lips, red heels, the sparkle of red crystal earrings that dangled in a tumble of deep brown curls. He felt a familiar tug in his groin and he looked back at his beer, his thumb running through the condensation on the glass.

It had been a very long week. He’d made some bad decisions, out of weakness, out of grief. One of them had been locking lips with Peggy’s niece. He still cringed internally about that every time he remembered it.

A slender hand, nails painted matte black, slipped over the countertop of the bar as the woman signalled she wanted to order.

“Drop shots please, two porn stars and a bottlecap,” her husky voice ran down the back of his spine and he took a huge gulp of beer, determined to finish it and get the hell back to his hotel.

Then she crossed her legs, the toe of one shoe brushing against his pant-leg, and their eyes met. The hot-ice fire returned to his gut when she winked at him and raised the first drop shot glass to her mouth.

**

He nearly took her against the hallway wall right next to his hotel room door. Her fingernails were scraping down the back of his neck, her mouth burning over the front of it, tongue rasping along the line of his jaw. He’d started wearing her lipstick in the cab from the bar, and he struggled to get his swipe card out of his pocket.

Darcy. Her name was Darcy, and she was currently the reason for the very erect problem in his dress slacks. She snickered in his ear when he fumbled at the door, sliding down his body so she could give him space. He kicked the door open and yanked her inside. She was shorter when she lost her heels, coming up to his chest, but he didn’t mind the height difference when he was walking her backwards, mouth on hers, his hands on her waist.

The backs of her knees hit the bed and she went down with a startled gasp. He followed her closely, crawling up over her body, his hand peeling the thick lycra of her  dress down over her breasts and taking her strapless bra with it.

Steve didn’t want to think, didn’t want to… anything. He just wanted to burn, his mouth on the slope of her breast, then catching her tight nipple between his lips. Her skin was salty, with a hint of soap scenting it, and every wash of his tongue on her was pulling noises from the back of her throat that made it hard for him to control himself.

He just wanted to pin her down, take her wrists in one hand, rock into her, and forget. He swallowed, mouth dry with want and he looked up at her as her chest heaved unevenly.

“Grant,” she said- he’d given her his middle name, needing to be anyone but himself, “can you… would you just, give me a second.” She pushed at him and he sat back as she wormed out of her dress and then licked her lips. “I need to use the bathroom.” Her eyelashes fluttered and she didn’t look at him as she made her way to the bathroom, dripping clothing along her trail.

He shifted, sitting on the edge of the bed, thighs spread and hands resting lightly on his knees. He needed to catch his breath… he needed to… just…

With a grunt he got to his feet and loosened his tie, flicking open his shirt and shrugging out of it. It landed on the chair by the bed as he heard the toilet flush, and the sink run inside the bathroom. He was stepping out of his trousers, folding them neatly when she emerged from the bathroom.

Darcy leaned against the doorframe, one hand curved modestly over her lower stomach to hide her nakedness from him and he felt heat blaze in his cock at the sight. Something about how she was tentative and aggressive all at the same time lit him up. He stroked the long length of his silk tie, before beckoning for her to come to him. Hesitation crossed her face, but she approached him and he held out the tie.

“Give me your wrists,” he said, his voice low and dark. He needed this from her, needed to see her expression as a hot blush rose up on her cheeks.

“So you’re a fifty shades kinda guy huh?” she asked, a smirk tugging at her lips despite the read off of her that she wasn’t quite comfortable. Her unease just made him want her more, to push her down onto the sheets and show her how good it would be to let go. He needed to shape her pleasure, make it his, give it to her until she was nothing but a trembling mess.

“Red means stop. Yellow means take a breather,” he said, wrapping his fingers around one of her delicate wrists. She let him, following as he knelt on the bed and pulled her down onto it. He shifted her until she was on her back, in the middle of the bed, the sleek lines of her body pulled taut as he fastened her wrists to the headboard with his tie. She watched him, eyes half-lidded and mildly curious.

“You’re not going to like, kill me and wear my skin right? Cause I dunno if you’ve looked in the mirror, I can pretty much guarantee you will not fit in a custom-made Darcy skinsuit.” She bit down on her lower lip and he choked out a laugh.

“Shhh,” he said, pressing his finger to her mouth. She rolled her eyes and then shut them, and he took a minute to steady his breathing as the worry and noise of the outside world faded away and all that was left was her. On his bed. Shifting and squirming as he didn’t touch her for long minutes. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts, the smooth line of her lightly rounded belly, the beauty mark a few inches from one hip, and then he wrapped his hands under her knees and lifted.

Lowering himself onto his gut, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and decided to waste no more time just  _looking_. A shiver ran through her body as he used his thumbs to part her damp folds, and then she cried out quietly when his mouth touched her, tongue finding her slick flesh and the salt-earth taste of it.

He knew he had her, coming or going, she was his, her hips rising to meet his touch, low noises escaping her throat behind a closed mouth as she tried to obey and keep quiet. Steve couldn’t find it in himself to stop, not after she came once in a melting shudder against him, not when she kicked her feet and broke her silence completely to  _beg_. He needed to find solace in a person, in someone so utterly disconnected from everything he’d been through and he ceased to be himself, he was only existing for her.

“Y-yellow,” she finally choked out, her feet curving into his spine as she twisted and shifted under him. “Yellow!”

Steve pulled back immediately, letting her legs slide off his shoulders to thud onto the bed. Her hair was spread across the pillows, her red lipstick smeared over the edges of her bottom lip, and she looked wrecked. His eyes fell to the swollen, pinked skin between her legs and he felt a clench of guilt and overwhelming arousal in his stomach. She tugged at her arms, wanting out from her ties, and he cursed under his breath- she’d pulled so hard the knots were a solid mass of silk.

“One second,” he said when she whined, a desperate sort of sound that made him feel even worse, and he opened the bedside table to pull out a pocket knife. That’s when she went dead still, and he felt her gaze boring into the side of his face. Even her breathing felt silent, and then-

“Oh god,” she whispered, and he blinked, then realized what she must be thinking.

“No! Darcy, no, I’m not… I just need to cut the tie off, okay?”

Fuck.  _Fuck_. He leaned over her and she looked torn between screaming for help and resigned, something so lost in her expression that his heart twisted. He cut her out and she pulled her arms in tight to her chest, thick bands of red skin raised on each one where she’d been bound. He shoved the knife in the drawer and slammed it shut before looking at her again.

She was watching him, nervous, and uncomfortable. He swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, and then sat up, giving him a weak smile. “It was hot,” she said, and he didn’t believe her. Mostly. She edged closer to him and then leaned into his chest, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He shuddered when her tongue hit his skin, he didn’t deserve it, or the caring way she traced the lines of his face with her fingers. He made a noise of protest, but she hushed him, pushing him down into the sheets as she moved over his body, her hands sliding down his chest and then his stomach, her mouth trailing after. Each each burnt into his skin and he groaned, fisting his fingers into the sheets when her tongue stroked up against the waistband of his briefs. Her nails scraped over his hips as she pulled them down, freeing his erection to hang heavy and hard between his thighs

“You don’t have to-” he shut up when her mouth brushed over the head of his cock, clearly she wanted to, her tongue flicking over him, drawing muffled noises out of him just as he had done to her. When her fingers brushed over the inside of his thighs, and her mouth closed around him, wet and so warm, he tensed. Already, he was close, already he wanted, he wanted so badly to just take her and sink her down onto him, to feel grounded in her.

She teased him for long minutes, until his back bowed off the bed and he sat up with a growl.

“Enough,” he snapped, and she pulled away with a huff, a look of offense crossing her face before it melted into something that was more along the lines of lazy arousal. He held out a hand to her. “Come here,” he said and she shuffled forwards on her knees. He let his hand slide over her stomach, around the narrowing of her waist, so it could settle on the curve of her lower back. She was trembling, just a bit, and her eyes were closed tight as she lowered herself against him, sinking her hips over his. The head of his cock brushed between her thighs, one of his arms braced behind him, and he hissed out a breath when he felt her warm entrance touch and then slide around.

Darcy made a noise, his hand braced on her back as he pushed her down onto him. She tilted her head back on her neck, and he could see the tense line of her tendons as she ground down onto him, willingly taking everything he had until her thighs were flush against his hips. There she stayed, still and breathing hard as he stroked along her spine, wondering at the tight heat of her and how damn good it felt.

Steve wanted to hear her breathing hitch and catch in her throat, he wanted to draw out every noise he could from her until they were both sated and done. He couldn’t do that with her on top of him, letting her set a glacial pace that was killing him.

“Move,” he ground out, jaw tight as he struggled not to just flip her over onto her back and take her like that. Her eyes flickered and then her hips rose, sliding up his shaft and making him groan. Just as he thought she would pull off of him entirely, she sank back down, her arms looping around his neck and resting on the broad planes of his shoulders.

He slid his hand down over her ass, curved it underneath to feel where he was slipping inside of her. At the brush of his thumb around her entrance, pulled wide over his girth, she cried out his name.

“Grant, oh fuck.” She leaned forward and pressed her face into his shoulder and started moving with conviction, small hips bucking and sinking and rising over him. He kept his hand under her, giving her something to push off of, helping her up and teasing her on the downstroke until she was shaking. Her thighs trembled, and he pulled them both down on their sides and rolled her onto her back.

Immediately her legs come up around his waist and she was panting into his ear, straining against him as he set a heavy and hard pace to fuck her thoroughly into the mattress. Everything was wet, and red, and perfect, and he ground out his frustration with her body, moisture running down his cheeks that may have been sweat or tears. He was past the point of knowing, his fingers marking her pale skin with red blotches that would turn up as bruises in the morning.

When he came, it was with an enthusiastic shout, pinning her down with his hands on her hips. She squirmed on his cock as he pulsed inside her, his head bowing down as he tucked his chin to his chest and breathed hard.

“Jesus,” he cursed, and then coughed, lifting his face to look at her. She was biting her lower lip, shifting under him, uncomfortable,  _incomplete_. Then she noticed him watching her, and a filthy flush crawled across her cheeks. He couldn’t help his answering grin. “Didn’t take care of you darlin’?” he drawled, and she slapped a hand across her eyes and moaned.

“Grant… please…” she asked, voice small and soft. He took pity on her, lowering his fingers to caress the soft flesh between them, her labia slightly spread since he was still buried inside of her. Her mouth dropped open when his thumb found her clit and stroked it in small circles. She tried to move her hips, meet his touch, but his weight was too much, too heavy over her. It was minutes, only minutes before she was tensing, ripples rolling through her body, clenching around him.

“I want to see you,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and pulling her arm away from her face as she cried out and clawed at him, coming hard around him for long, drawn out seconds.

“Oh god,” she said as her back finally collapsed downwards, “oh god that was-” She licked her dry lips and he pulled out of her slowly, mindful as she hissed and winced.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked as he got off the bed and walked to the mini bar, cracking a bottle of water open and taking a long swig of it.

“No… no I’m… I’m good.”

He looked over her shoulder at her. She looked so small, curled up in the middle of his bed, the sheets rumbled around her frame. He returned to her and pulled her into him as he lay down. She hesitated at first and then melted against his chest, his hands sliding over her back, down her shoulders and arms, and back over her hip.

“You alright?” he asked into the crown of her head. She shrugged one shoulder and then burrowed in deeper against him. Her weight was comforting, satisfying.

“Is it alright if I stay?” she asked, sounding like she was drifting already.

“Mmm, sleep,” he said, and reached down to yank the sheet up over them. The dark, and exhaustion settled over him with the linens and he was gone in moments.

  
**

He woke, warm and sated. The morning light sprawled over his bed; he’d forgotten to shut the curtains the night before.

“Darcy,” he mumbled, rolling over to wrap an arm around her and found… nothing. Empty sheets. He sat up and blinked in the morning haze. The bathroom door was open, the light off. Her clothes were gone. The only thing left was a slight depression in the pillow next to him where she’d slept. He ran a hand through his hair and cursed quietly, then let himself sink back onto the sheets. The next thing he knew, the bedside phone was ringing with his prearranged wake-up call so he could meet up with Jean.

**

“There it is,” Darcy said. A month and a half, it had taken her to get back to America. A month and a damn half of country-hopping and riding the most unreliable and frightening transit systems the world had to offer. Her stomach rolled just at the thought of the cliff-side bus she’d had to take in Chile. Fuck. Never again. She was sat on the balcony of a Chicago apartment, the sun beating down hard on the worn patio furniture.

Ian looked down at the USB stick and then picked it up.

“You don’t mind if I…” he trailed off as he gestured to the laptop in front of him. She shrugged and looked away.

“Check it. It’s all there, everything on his laptop is yours.” She was proud of how her voice didn’t waver.

“And you installed the-”

“Yes. Keylogger is installed. You want that? You let them go, and once they’re safe with me I will call you with the code to access it.” She leaned in close to him and glared. “Ian, I mean it. I want my family back. I did your shit for you, and got you what you wanted.”

Ian rolled his eyes and shrugged a shoulder. Really, she hated him. How she’d never realized he was a fucking  _terrorist_ was beyond her. Maybe the bad kissing should have given him away.

“I’ll talk to my bosses-” he started, but she threw herself half over the table and grabbed him by the collar in one hand, snatching the USB stick back in the other.

“I swear to fucking god I will bash your face in. The deal was I do this for you, you let them go. I’ve done-”

“Yes you fucked Captain America,” he sneered and her gut twisted hard, “I’m sure your family is very grateful. Give me the key, Darcy, and I will make the call now. They’ll be dropped off home in an hour, and you can continue on with your sad little life.” His lips quirked up. “Where’s your precious Nordic god to come to your aide now?”

Her fingers loosened on him and she sank back into her chair, heart pounding. She had nothing over them, over him, and they both knew it. Thor was off-world. SHIELD didn’t exist, Coulson was dead last she’d heard. The one last contact she might have on a cold day in hell been able to turn to was also a fugitive. Clint Barton, who she’d met briefly in New Mexico, would be no help to her if he was locked up by American authorities before he could extricate her family. He held out his hand.

“The USB key, please now, love,” he said. She let him take it from her fingers, and he stroked the back of her hand, teasing up her wrist. It burnt, and she hated him, more than anyone, more than anything.

As he lifted his phone to his ear, she watched him with dull eyes. He kept his hand on her, possessive and claiming.

“You could have used anyone,” she said, not able to inject any energy into her voice, her words flat. “Why me? I’m not a super spy. I’m not… I’m nobody.”

Ian licked his lips and then winked at her, eyes dragging down her body like she was naked. A shiver rolled through her frame. If her family’s wellbeing hadn’t been hanging in the balance, the next words out of his mouth would have found him eating the metal-framed edge of the table between them.

“We knew his type, pet, and you’re exactly the kind of whore he likes to go for.”


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy’s fingers gripped the edge of the examination bed, crinkling the paper sanitary shield. The words of her Gram ran through her head.  _You play with fire, you get burnt. You sleep with dogs, you get fleas. You fuck a world-wide-wanted superhero criminal for all the right-wrong reasons, you get pregnant._ Apparently that last one was an adage her Gram had missed passing along.

“Miss Lewis? Do you have any questions?” Dr. Wilson was standing just inside the door, one hand tapping out notes on her laptop. Darcy felt like her head was stuffed with cotton.

“No. No I’m good. Thanks. It’s just…”

“A surprise, I’m sure, but hopefully a happy one? Please let me know if I can point you in the direction of any choice counselling… or any… private clinics.”

Choices. She had choices. Adoption. Abortion. Right. She was young, and probably looked fucking terrified, and that’s why it was even being mentioned. Darcy swallowed hard.

“Fuck, no, I’m fine. But thanks-” She jumped off the edge of the examination table and went for her backpack, hauling it up over her shoulder.

“Ah, well… if you speak with the receptionist they’ll schedule you in for your first pre-natal appointment, and we’ll see you again soon, alright?” The doctor closed her laptop with a snap and then smiled, patting Darcy on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Miss Lewis.”

With that she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her. Darcy took a deep breath and shoved her feet in her shoes. Her hands were shaking, she observed abstractly as she tried to lace up her purple Chucks.

Options. She had to figure out her options. Her family was (somewhat) safe. Ian had kept up his end of the bargain, but he’d left it open, told her she might be  _needed_ again. Then he’d grabbed her by the hips so hard he’d bruised her, and stuck his tongue down her throat. Still, for now? Her family were back at home and being left alone by Ian and his group of super goons. Her little sister might be wetting the bed every night, but she was alive, and Darcy would take that as a win any day.

She hit the pavement outside the clinic, not bothering to set up a future schedule of appointments, and began to walk. New York was different when you were near broke and dodging terrorist groups who may or may not be interested in you due to previous affiliations with thunder gods, and were also seriously knocked up by the First Avenger. At least, it seemed different to her. It was one thing when she was looking at a future for just herself, trying to make a buck and get by until she could ensure her family’s permanent safety, but with a baby on the way?

Darcy had figured that getting lost in the millions of people would make it harder for Ian to track her down next time he need another fucking favour. But working under the table, possessing only a burner phone and what she could lug around in a backpack made it hard to survive. Still it was easier to stay below the radar in the Big Ambrosia Apple than it would have been back at her parents’ place. Her parents. Fuck.

The air was cool that day, unseasonably so, and she lifted her face to the breeze as it pulled her hair from her neck. Her skin was sweaty from nerves and being told  _no you don’t have ovarian cancer, you’re pregnant actually my dear and that’s what’s causing the lack of periods_ , and the wind felt good on her damp flesh.

She mentally ran over her options. Contacting Jane was still out of the question. Thor was playing Keep Away with planet earth, and would be of no help or protection to her old boss if Ian and his parade of dickmunchers went after her. There was no way Darcy was involving Jane, plus the look on her face when she realized what Darcy’d gone and done? She didn’t want to see Jane be disappointed. Jane  _knew_ Steve, had met him at events, was screwing his ‘brother in arms’, so no. Jane was out, officially and permanently.

Next up was an equally dead (literally) end. All of Darcy’s SHIELD contacts were dead, imprisoned, or on the run (maybe? There were some rumours circulating the net about a few of them but she hadn’t heard anything from the feelers she’d put out. Hacker she was, master spy she was not). It wasn’t like she could backtrack through the founding members of the organization either, who in their old age might have been more accessible than the new directors. All three were dead, Peggy gone most recently.

What was she going to say anyway?  _I aided a terrorist organization in regards to information gathering with one of the top most wanted enhanced humans on the planet? Please help me cause I’m popping out a sprog in under 9 months? Please don’t throw me in prison? Pretty please?_

Her feet had taken her to a park, a children’s park of all places, and she sat down heavily on the nearest bench, watching the kids on the swings with their parents close at hand. Without meaning to, her fingers crept over the curve of her stomach, no different than usual, maybe the faintest bit of swelling, but the doctor had mentioned that was more likely first trimester bloating than anything else.

Darcy was just grateful she was one of the 30-percenters, the women who didn’t have much or any morning sickness. Trekking across the world and then dealing with Ian and his bullshit would have been so much less fun if she’d been retching up the entire time. Her fingers rubbed small circles just below her belly button through the thin heathered jersey of her gray shirt and she closed her eyes for a moment.

“But I hate kids,” she said under her breath, then watched little legs pump tiny bodies into the sky. She eyed her belly suspiciously. “Pretend you didn’t hear that, baby.” Her heart thudded in her chest and she blinked back tears that were threatening to overwhelm her and disturb her chill. The pregnancy test, the blood test, sure, legit science. But talking to her stomach? That made it more real than anything.

Darcy took a slow, long breath to drag the cool air into her lungs. In the end, it wasn’t really a hard decision to make, was it? Baby was happening. That was a thing, yes, that was a thing that was happening. She cupped her hand over her stomach like it was a wish hidden under her skin and she didn’t want it to blow away in the wind.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she blinked, startled out of her moment. Only a few people had the number, her family for one, and the landlady at the SRO hotel… she fished it out of her jacket and looked at the screen before flipping it open.

“Hey Mom, what’s going on?”

“Darcy, love, my jewel, how are you feeling?” Ian’s voice echoed down the tin-can line and she sat up, ice crawling down her back.

“Ian, where’s my mom?” She willed her voice not to shake, she would  _not_ give him the satisfaction of scaring her, not again.

“It’s alright, she’s quite alright, sat here and made me a cup of tea, and we’re having a nice chat. Funny business, this family thing, isn’t it? We’d do anything for our family. Or you would anyway, you’ve got such a nice set of parents, a little sister…” he was dancing around the reason for his call, drawing it out, and she felt the familiar fire of rage light up in her gut, keeping the icy-cold fear at bay. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to one temple, begging for patience.

“What do you want?” she asked, the fight running out of her. “I don’t think the guy is going to fall twice for my fuck-and-forget routine, and last I heard he was holed up in Wakanda who were refusing extradition requests, and there is no way I can pass for a local there. Might be the whole super white and Jewish thing.”

“Funny you should ask, very funny, because you’re so assumptive. Did anyone ever tell you that Darcy? That you just… assume. You think that we want something from you, and that you would be of any use to us at all, but you aren’t, it’s just more fun this way. Did you know that? That’s the only reason that we’re even chatting, it’s just fun for me.”

She could hear the scrape of a chair, and his voice changed - he was walking somewhere. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. Like  _I had no idea it was so boring being a terrorist that tormenting old girlfriends brought you kicks_ , or  _go fuck yourself you weasel-faced spongefucker_ , but he was in her home, or at the very least had her mother’s cellphone which meant he was close to her family. She decided to draw blood and bite her own tongue instead.

“Ian-”

“Now I didn’t want to break the news to your mum that she was about to become a gran because I figured perhaps that was something best left to you, after all, some lines even I don’t cross.”

A shiver ran right through her. How the fuck even...

“Darcy? Are you with me, love? Surprised? It’s not hard, really, just a tag on your medical files… you know, digital reporting these days, so convenient...”

She wanted to vomit. She wanted to vomit right there, in the park, blame it on morning sickness, or the baby, whatever, it was time… her time for vomitus maximus had come. She swallowed hard and kept it down.

“Darcy, I can hear you breathing.”

She closed her eyes tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m here. What… what do you want, Ian?”

“It’s alright there, my sweet, you just take a deep breath. Stress is bad for babies, isn’t it?” His voice was like a cold oil, pouring over her, down her neck, over her face, seeping in under her clothes and coating her until she was covered in it, choking in it. “And while you per se aren’t useful, that package you’re carrying for the dear Captain is. Imagine that, a child from the world’s first and most legendary superhero? He’ll be delighted, I’m sure, as will the countries willing to pay top dollar to use your little star spangled spawn to get their hands on him.” He took a breath, and she tried to stop the shaking that was starting in her boots, in her bones.

“It’s not his,” she whispered, voice breathy and broken. Ian laughed, a dying noise that grated across her nerves.

“Love we both know that’s just not true. Even if there was a question on it, which there isn’t because despite how you’re my little whore, we both know how rarely you actually put out. Even if you were spreading your legs across the Atlantic seaboard, just the mere suggestion of a child born from super-serum DNA is enough to get the bidding wars started. Would you like to wager how much the precious little bean is worth on the black market, sold as-is where-is right now?”

Her mouth was dry. She really was going to vomit.

“Can you just… skip to the point and get to the end of telling me your evil plan?” she croaked out.

“This isn’t even going to be a surprise to you, pet, is it? Clever girl. Your family for one infant of superhero pedigree. I’ll have one of our gents meet you at the Aqueduct Racetrack station. Can you be there in an hour or two?” Ian’s voice was a croon, almost a purr. He had her, they both knew it.

“So what’s the deal. You guys take me, I incubate the spore and then you sell it on the black market? My family is going to be held as collateral the whole time? Is it just your ex-girlfriends you’re this cavalier with when you’re threatening their whole world, or does everyone get the special treatment?” She quietly unzipped her backpack as she spoke, fishing out her laptop.

Months ago she’d made a decision to put her family first. Captain America could take care of himself. Captain America had a team of people as insane as he was, who’d thrown themselves willingly into the fire and were happy to burn there. Her family? They hadn’t picked this life any more than she had. So she’d gone against her better judgement and bedded Steve Rogers, putting into place a framework for terrorists to spy on him, and fuck if she wasn’t proud of herself for pulling it off without getting dead.

While there wasn’t a guarantee that the good Captain would even give a shit he’d fathered a child, chances were good that he would… give a shit, that was, and having his kid held hostage would destabilize an already frayed and worn world peace that was just barely hanging on after the latest superhero suckfest.

What was the point of saving her family if it meant that the world was going to collapse in on itself anyway? Her brain weighed her options as the computer booted up, hooking into a local free wifi hotspot. She longed to be sitting on the couch in a pair of stained pyjamas, eating cold Alphagettis out of a tin. That was her idea of heaven. She pushed her wish for cold processed pasta aside.

“That’s my clever girl,” Ian cooed at her, and she cringed, opening up the Keylogger program that was still giving her a back-door into Steve’s computer. “So an hour or two? We can count on you, can’t we, love?”

Putting a message on someone else’s computer screen had been a cakewalk in grade five, and it wasn’t any harder now, even if his computer was currently disconnected from any network. She tapped her fingers lightly on they keyboard, trying to think of what was best to say, how to phrase it, exactly?  _Hey assface, you got me up the duff, ps terrorists want our baby and also I know your first name isn’t really Grant_. That seemed like something Emily Post would approve of. Honest, and to the point.

“Darcy, darling?” There was an edge to Ian’s voice, and she huffed out a breath.

“Deal, fine. I’ll be your pressure cooker, but my family stays where they are. And Ian?” She checked the map for the distance between where she was and where she needed to go. A taxi would get her there in twenty minutes, or it was an hour-long walk if she didn’t want to go on camera.

“Yes, my dove, what is it?” He had her. He thought he had her. Her probably had her. There was a very long shot for her to take that afternoon, and she’d always been crap at darts.

“Meet me there?” She let a slip of her fear into her voice, let her words waver. “I… I need to see you. It’s just all been… so overwhelming.”

He sighed into her ear, and for a moment it was her Ian, old Ian, who’d pulled her close at night when she got the shakes after the earth had ripped apart in front of them. Even if it had been all a ruse, she still took some measure of sick comfort in the memories she had. She held her breath.

“It will be a great effort to get there,” he said, “but I think I shall manage it. If that’s what you really want. You’ll have to wait though, it’llt take extra time for me to meet you.”

Her stomach unclenched and she shoved her laptop back in her bag, zipping it up and tossing it on her shoulder.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be,” she said, setting off down the street.

“Right. See you in two to three hours, Aqueduct. And Darcy, my love? I don’t need to threaten you with what I’ll do to your family if you don’t show, do I?” He sounded like he was moving, walking somewhere. A car door slammed.

In the distance, Stark Tower rose through the forest of skyscrapers, still a beacon of light for all mankind, and hope for Darcy.

“No, I’m good Ian. I’ll see you soon.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call. She had two hours, tops, to get to Stark Tower and convince whatever skeleton staff there that she was the Real Deal and needed help. Even if there’d been a very public split between Iron Man and Captain America, nobody fought that hard unless they’d also loved just as deeply. It was a long shot, but it was the only one she had. If it didn't work, she'd high-tail it to the station and meet with Ian, take her chances from then.

There was no way in hell she was playing brood mare to the world’s worst extremists without a fight, even if it meant risking her family.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, find me on tumblr: [HushingHorizon](hushinghorizon.tumblr.com)


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